Just One Word
by firefly5151
Summary: Sherlock never thought one word would matter so much to him. It was just one more thing that changed since John moved in to 221B and became a part of his life.


_This fic is in response to a prompt I read somewhere a few months ago and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. The prompt was something along the lines of John has seen Sherlock cry on demand while on cases. When Sherlock cries for real, John thinks it's an act. _

_I know Sherlock is probably way out of character and I'm sorry. It was truly hard to come up with a situation where Sherlock would actually cry and to keep him in character while doing so._

* * *

><p>"Sherlock," John began as he got into the cab that was waiting for him outside of the surgery, "I don't understand why you needed me. What's so important?" He closed the door and looked at Sherlock questioningly. "And why couldn't we do whatever this is on my lunch break or after I got off work instead?"<p>

Sherlock gave his usual answer, eyes never leaving the phone in his hands. "You know why you're here John, I tell you all the time. I'd be lost without my blogger. _And_, we're doing this now because you know I hate to wait."

John looked out the window for a few minutes as the city passed them by. He then turned to Sherlock who was still looking at his phone. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"A bakery."

"Why?"

"A case, John, a case. Why else?" Sherlock finally put down his phone and saw the expression on John's face. "Brian, a previous member of my homeless network, now runs a business, a bakery to be exact. This bakery happens to be in the same neighborhood I believe our murderer resides in. I've contacted Brian to help keep an eye out for him since the NSY can't seem to locate him themselves or don't appear to want to actually catch him."

Shaking his head and still trying to figure out why he was needed since it sounded like something Sherlock could have done on his own, John looked out the window again.

Twenty minutes later the cab pulled up alongside a row of shops. The heavenly smell of baking bread greeted John and Sherlock as they exited the cab and entered the bakery.

"Ah, Sherlock. It's good to see you again," a man behind the counter said with a smile as he looked up when the shop door closed.

"Brian," Sherlock said, stepping up to the counter.

John followed behind, his stomach growling as he eyed the delicious looking pastries and bread displayed in front of him. He began thinking maybe this excursion was worth it after all.

Brian shook Sherlock's hand. "I was quite surprised when I got your message, Sherlock. But like I said earlier, I'll do anything I can to help you; like always."

Sherlock reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. "Here are a few photos taken from the CCTV footage. Once you see him, watch him for a while and then call or text me if you begin to see any patterns."

"Of course." Brian walked behind the display cases, setting the envelope on the back counter. "Now, what would you two like?"

"Nothing for me." Sherlock turned toward John. "How about you, John? Brian, this is my friend, John Watson."

"His colleague," John corrected, walking closer to the display case and shaking Brian's hand.

At the correction to his introduction, Sherlock quickly turned his head toward John with a hurt look.

The look went unnoticed since John's eyes were still scanning the items in the display cases. He was initially going to pass up Brian's offer, but his stomach had growled again. He walked up and down the cases for a few moments and finally indicated what he would like.

Brian handed John a bag with his chosen pastry inside and addressed Sherlock again. "Are you sure you don't want anything, Sherlock?"

"I'm sure," Sherlock answered distractedly. He schooled his face into its usual expression, looked at John for a few more seconds, then quickly exited the bakery. Without waiting for John, he took off on foot towards Baker Street.

~SJ~

Sherlock couldn't get over how he felt when John corrected his introduction. He never really "did" emotions, so his current feelings didn't make any sense. Sherlock knew he had introduced John to Sebastian at Shad Sanderson a few months ago the same way he just did to Brian. He was slightly disappointed then when John corrected him, though maybe that was because he was trying to impress Sebastian, but this time the correction bothered him a lot more and he wasn't trying to impress anyone.

As the word colleague repeated over and over in his head, and though he rarely fell victim to normal feelings and emotions, Sherlock couldn't help but begin to feel extremely upset. It truly made no sense since he'd never had friends before and never truly wanted any. He couldn't understand why that one word bothered him so much now.

After forty-five minutes, Sherlock grew tired of walking and decided to hail a cab for the rest of the journey back to Baker Street. When the cab finally pulled up in front of his flat, he noticed a black sedan parked a few feet ahead and his brother leaning against the flat's entry door with umbrella in hand. Sherlock had to stop himself from groaning aloud, having no interest in spending any time with Mycroft.

"Brother mine," Mycroft said in greeting when Sherlock stepped up to unlock the door.

"Mycroft," Sherlock responded tersely, and led the way upstairs.

Upon entering the flat, Mycroft unbuttoned his coat, draped it over the back of John's chair and set his umbrella beside it. He sat down and watched Sherlock take a seat opposite him. When Sherlock finally looked at him, he just raised his eyebrows.

With a small sigh, Sherlock gave a little shake of his head, stood up, and went to the kitchen to make tea.

Mycroft was quiet until Sherlock walked back into the room with the tea. "Why did you rush out of the bakery and leave John behind?" he asked, as he took the offered cup. "He was definitely not pleased with you. I have never seen him look so angry."

Sherlock gave no answer, just sat down in his chair with his eyes on the steaming contents of his cup. He really hated the fact that Mycroft always knew where he was and what he was doing.

"It took you almost an hour before you finally got a cab and you were close to walking into a few light poles in that time." Mycroft gave a little laugh as Sherlock glared at him. "A little distracted were we?"

"No," Sherlock answered forcefully. After taking a few sips of tea, he finally looked up. "I can't remember, did you ever have any friends growing up or now?" he asked quietly, almost hoping Mycroft wouldn't hear him while at the same time wondering why the question even passed his lips. Mycroft gave him an incredulous look, and for an instant, Sherlock began to wonder if that's how he looked at John at times.

"Why would I had or have friends, Sherlock? I can barely stand your company, and we're related."

Sherlock looked away. "Did you ever want any? Oh, don't answer that, I already know you didn't."

A bit surprised at the questions tumbling out of his brother's mouth, Mycroft studied Sherlock for a minute before speaking. "How many times do I have to tell you that there is no advantage in caring and to not get involved? You've never had a friend before and there's a reason why. They're not needed, they just get in the way, and they cause more problems than they are worth. You and I both know life is far better off without friends."

With a glare at Mycroft, Sherlock set down his cup, picked up his violin, and started to make the loudest, most obnoxious noises he could make on the instrument. He sincerely hoped his brother would get the message. Not only did he not want the company of Mycroft to begin with, he didn't particularly care for their current conversation, though he knew he was the one who initiated it.

Mycroft stood up, put on his coat and grabbed his umbrella. "This is going to end the same way as all the others in the past, Sherlock. Just remember that." He gave one last look at Sherlock and left the flat.

When Sherlock saw that his brother was leaving, he set down his violin, walked to the door and slammed it shut the moment Mycroft crossed the threshold. He didn't believe a word Mycroft said. This time it _was_ different. He could feel it; having never felt this way before. Sherlock knew it wouldn't end up the same way and he didn't want it to end the same way. For once in his life, he'd prove Mycroft wrong.

~ SJ~

Sherlock returned to the kitchen with half empty cups of tea in hand. He deposited them into the sink and turned around, eyes spotting the experiment he'd been working on before he'd left for the bakery. Glancing at the clock, he was happy to see that he could now continue with it.

Completing the next steps correctly, however, began to be a problem. His thoughts since leaving the bakery and of his conversation with Mycroft were clashing with how he needed to proceed with his experiment. Twenty minutes in he realized he'd forgotten a crucial step. The entire experiment, almost twelve hours of work, was ruined and there was no way Molly would let him have another pancreas so soon.

Hating his mind for wandering and not concentrating on just the experiment, something it had never done before, he left the mess on the table and went to his chair in the living room, flopping down into his normal thinking pose. He couldn't continue like this, not with all his thoughts on John and his conversation with Mycroft. He needed to concentrate on one thing only and it obviously wasn't an experiment. Surprisingly, he needed to find out what John was to him; friend or colleague.

Standing up abruptly, he went to the bookcase to find his dictionary and read the definition of friend. The literal definition proved he was correct in assuming John was his friend. In any case, he decided more research was needed.

Sherlock dropped the dictionary on the coffee table with a loud thud and sat at the desk in front of his laptop. At the search bar, he typed in _what is a friend_. He clicked on the link for the first entry and began reading though it. A part of the article listed key points of a genuine friend and he decided to see if he could come up with some examples of him and John.

The first key point said _wants the best for you._ Sherlock thought John always seemed to want what was best for him, especially since he was constantly on him about eating and sleeping. John even seemed to care about what people thought about him, though Sherlock still had trouble understanding why.

The second point he read said _has told you that you are their friend or has introduced you as their friend._ Sherlock stared at the screen for a few seconds. He couldn't recall the last time he was introduced to someone by John so that part of the point didn't help him. The first part, however, was true. He'd heard John say he was his friend a few times, though it had been a while. Not wanting to think much on that at the moment, he moved on.

Next was _gets together for lunch, tea, coffee, dinner._ That was obvious for Sherlock. They always did that together, except when John was at work, on a date which Sherlock didn't interrupt, or when Sherlock was out on his own investigating or experimenting. True, Sherlock knew he rarely ate, but he and John were technically together for those things.

Sherlock stared at the next point; _is interested when you talk about your life. _There was no way he could even come up with an example for this one since he never talked to John about his life outside of the Work. Based on other conversations they'd had over the past few months though, Sherlock would assume John would be interested. John always seemed interested whenever he talked about things…well most of the time.

The last point was, _has done something nice for you_. There were many things that John had done for him since they met. He became his flatmate, did the shopping, made tea, accompanied him on cases, and was always telling him he was brilliant, clever, when he did something not good, and such. The more he thought about some of those things, however, the more he wasn't sure if they would be considered nice or were done just as a necessity, like they were John's duty.

Wanting to see what else there was, Sherlock pulled up another article. After reading the first paragraph he stopped, not needing to go any further. If a friend was the first person you wanted to tell things too, who remembered what you liked and didn't like, and enjoyed accompanying you to things even if they were boring, then John was definitely his friend.

John was always the first person he wanted to tell things to, whether it was results of an experiment or when he'd solved a case. Looking for John was sometimes even the first thing he seemed to do whenever he got back to the flat after being out by himself…depending on what he had been doing. John definitely knew what he liked and didn't like; he hated being bored, liked sugar in his tea, and hated shopping. And John definitely enjoyed accompanying him whenever he went out for a case; there was no doubt about that.

Based on everything he'd read, and all his deductions, John and he were definitely friends. He knew he was right. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at actually getting confirmation on it. He actually had a friend; something any normal person would have. And for the first time that he could remember, he actually didn't mind being normal.

~SJ ~

John entered the flat thirty minutes later. The moment he spotted Sherlock at the desk, he scowled and began the rant he'd been planning since he found out Sherlock left him at the bakery. "Because of your meaningless errands, I may get fired from my job at the surgery. I'll repeat what I've already told you, though since you never seem to remember a word I say, I'm probably wasting my breath. I've already been on thin ice for weeks because of my absences and for leaving at odd times through the day for nothing truly important. This morning's pointless excursion definitely didn't help matters. The next time you have an errand to run, don't bother asking me to tag along. Not only do I need my job and the money, I'm tired of being left behind to make excuses when you decide to run off."

Sherlock didn't respond as he pulled up another article on the laptop, too caught up in in his discovery.

"Did you hear a word I said, Sherlock?" At the continued silence, John angrily walked to the desk and looked over Sherlock's shoulder to see what he was doing. He read the title of the article Sherlock was reading, and then read it again aloud in somewhat disbelief. "How to keep friends. Is this for a case, Sherlock?"

Sherlock flinched at John's voice coming from over his right shoulder and he quickly closed the browser. John definitely didn't need to know what he was researching. He was truly surprised that he was so absorbed at what he was reading that he didn't even hear John come into the flat.

When Sherlock didn't respond, John knew it wasn't for a case. Sherlock always shared everything that was case related, whether John wanted to know about it or not. He gave a little laugh, though his voice was still holding the anger he was feeling. "You do know you have to have friends first in order the keep them, right? I would have thought your brilliant mind would have known that. Or was that something _else_ you decided to delete since it wasn't relevant to a case, like the Earth going around the sun?"

Sherlock felt like he was punched in the stomach and his mouth fell open in shock. Even though he was questioning a supposed friendship with John, it was different to hear another's thoughts on it out loud, and by John no less. John was the first person he truly liked being in the presence of. His first friend, actually, if he could believe the articles he'd just read along with his own deductions. Sherlock truly thought that they were friends but John didn't? He still didn't know why that one word mattered so much to him, but it did. He swallowed thickly, slammed his laptop shut and stood up to head to the sofa.

John rolled his eyes and gave an irritated huff when he saw Sherlock's face. "Whatever it is, Sherlock, I won't do it. I've had it with you today, so stop with the fake waterworks. You cannot manipulate me like I'm one of your suspects. A few tears won't get me to do whatever it is you want. Besides, I'm meeting a friend for drinks in a little less than an hour."

After registering the first thing John said, Sherlock brought his right hand up and felt his cheek. It was definitely wet. He then noticed the stinging in his eyes. Horrified at the thought that he was actually crying, he covered his eyes with a hand and sunk down in the sofa. How dare his transport betray him and act so…normal.

"I said stop, Sherlock!" John said almost shouting, tired of Sherlock's antics. He just wanted a cup of tea without all the dramatics from his flatmate before he had to leave. He spun around and headed to the kitchen, groaning at the mess Sherlock had made with his most recent experiment.

Not knowing what came over him, Sherlock grabbed the nearest thing to him, the dictionary he'd used earlier, and threw it across the room. Unsatisfied and still needing to get the unwanted emotions out of his system along with the hatred he now had for his transport's betrayal, he picked up a glass of water that had been sitting on the table and threw it as well. It hit the wall near the fireplace with a satisfying crash.

John rushed out of the kitchen into the living room at the sound of the glass breaking. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!" he yelled. He looked from the water and broken glass on the floor to Sherlock who was still sitting on the sofa with a hand covering his eyes. "You truly are pathetic, Sherlock, you know that? Absolutely pathetic. Throwing a tantrum like a two year old just to get what you want. I already told you, it's not going to work." Though Sherlock couldn't see, John tilted his head toward the glass on the floor. "And I'm not cleaning that up." He then went back to the kitchen to finish making his tea.

Sherlock picked up another book from the table and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp. He was so angry with himself, letting his emotions take over. And yet he still couldn't stop the tears no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't even get into the safety of his mind palace to help him suppress everything he was feeling.

Sherlock brought his feet up on the sofa, keeping his face hidden in his hands. He felt absolutely mortified that he was truly crying, and in front of John no less. Sure he'd shed a few tears here and there at crime scenes in front of John, but this was completely different. Sherlock felt raw, exposed, and vulnerable. He never felt so out of control in his life and it was all because of John.

John was obviously not his friend, and now thought him pathetic. Normally Sherlock wouldn't care what people thought of him, but with John, it was completely different. Anything John said or did mattered, and he could surprisingly admit that he was a lot happier now that John was a part of his life. John thought he was brilliant and clever at his deductions, and didn't seem to tire of saying so. He even put up with his experiments and rude behavior. Most importantly, Sherlock liked John's company and even started taking John's feelings into consideration at times, though rare it was. John didn't seem to mind his company either, or at least he thought that might be the case. In any event, no one else had stuck around as long as John had. The longest he'd had a flatmate in the past was maybe a month and a half max.

~SJ~

John finished making his cup of tea and was going to bring it up to his room while he unwound. He decided to use the door from the kitchen to get upstairs since he didn't want to risk saying something he'd regret and he'd had enough of Sherlock for one day. Half way to the door he heard hitching breaths coming from the living room. He stopped dead.

Slightly concerned, since Sherlock never carried on his act this long or to this extent ever, he looked into the living room. Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, but now was almost curled in a ball. His face was buried in his arms which were crossed over his knees and his shoulders were shaking.

Whatever this was, it was not an act. Beginning to feel slightly guilty and all his previous anger immediately washing away, John set his cup of tea on the kitchen table and went to the living room. "Sherlock," he said quietly. "Sherlock, are you okay?" When Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, he tentatively put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock?" When Sherlock jerked from his touch, John sighed, gave Sherlock a concerned look, and went to the kitchen. He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Mycroft.

_Anything happen to Sherlock today? – JW_

A reply came not a minute later.

_Nothing out of the ordinary. Though we did have an extremely odd conversation earlier. – MH_

_Why do you ask? – MH_

John dropped his hand that was holding the phone to his side. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to divulge to Mycroft, knowing what Sherlock thought about his brother. But as he looked at Sherlock in the living room, he decided it was worth any anger he'd receive from his flatmate.

_He's crying. – JW_

_Crying? He hasn't cried since he was a little boy. – MH_

_Why would he be crying? – JW_

_Not sure. – MH_

_What should I do? You've had more experience with him in this type of situation. – JW_

_It's best just to stay with him. – MH_

_Don't know what good that will do, but ok. – JW_

_If I'm needed at all, please let me know immediately. – MH_

_Will do. – JW_

John put his phone away and looked toward Sherlock again. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Since he hadn't taken a sip of the tea he had made, he added some sugar and brought it to the living room to offer it to Sherlock once he calmed down. He set it on the coffee table and looked to Sherlock again. John could handle an angry, bored, quiet, or rude Sherlock. But a crying one? It definitely wasn't his area.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, though definitely worried, John tentatively sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock. He doubted Sherlock would want to be seen like this. John knew he wouldn't want to be seen like this if he was in Sherlock's place, but Mycroft said to stay with him. He looked at Sherlock helplessly. What was he supposed to do?

~SJ~

Sherlock went over everything he'd deduced over the previous few hours. None of it made sense. All the signs were there that John was his friend. Where did he go wrong? It hit him a few seconds later and he felt like an idiot. Everything he read probably had to go both ways in order to be friends. John, obviously, didn't feel any of that applied to him.

The conversation Sherlock had earlier with Mycroft came rushing to the front of his mind. Maybe his brother was right…he shouldn't have gotten involved. People like him didn't have friends. He should have just kept to himself with just his pain-in-the-ass brother for company whenever he could stand it and rented a cheaper flat where he wouldn't have needed a flatmate. He would have been better off.

He repeatedly tried to tell himself that he truly didn't care if he had a friend and that he should suppress all his thoughts and feelings about John and how long it would take before he'd decide to move out, but unfortunately it didn't help him quell his tears; it actually had the opposite effect and he still couldn't make them stop. He didn't think he could go back to living how he had been. And why did it all matter?

When John noticed the crying intensifying a little, he put a hand on one of Sherlock's shaking shoulders. "Sherlock?"

Face still hidden in his arms, Sherlock jerked away from John's touch like before. "Go away," he mumbled.

John sighed. "What's wrong?"

"I _said_, go away," he repeated through hitching breaths, wondering why John just couldn't do what he said. Didn't he know that his presence was making it worse? Now Sherlock wished he retreated to his bedroom the moment he realized he was crying. Instead he was stuck with the one person who caused him to be like this. He sniffled a few times and ran a finger under his running nose.

John got up and left the living room. He stopped off in the kitchen to send a quick text then retrieved a box of tissues from the bathroom. He returned to the sofa and when he sat down, his eyes caught sight of the broken glass and the over-turned lamp on the other side of the room. Sherlock could be unpredictable at times, but he had never seen him at the point where he would voluntarily start destroying things around the flat; bullet holes in the wall and experiments gone wrong not counting. It was definitely worrying.

"Sherlock, will you please look at me and tell me what happened?" A sniffle and a head shake were his only answers. John pulled a few tissues out of the box and held them in front of Sherlock. "Here are some tissues."

Quickly glancing up, Sherlock grabbed the tissues and rested his left cheek on his arms, face away from John. "Aren't you supposed to be meeting up with a _friend_ right now?" he asked angrily.

John missed the tone Sherlock used, more worried about why Sherlock was in this state. "Not anymore. I just sent a text canceling."

Sherlock sniffled. "Why?"

"Because I'm needed here."

"You're not and you don't want to be," he forced out, trying to convince the distress he was feeling to go way or just change into hatred or anger or anything else, really. As he took a shuddering breath, he really wished John would leave. He couldn't handle all this new and surprising emotion and he didn't want a witness to what it was doing to him. "John, please," he begged, "just…go have drinks with your friend and leave me alone." Keeping his face from John's view, he positioned himself on the sofa so he was lying on his side in a ball, face squished into the back cushions. A push with his feet while he moved caused John to stand up from the sofa.

John sighed and sat back down in the small space Sherlock left empty at his feet. "I am not leaving, Sherlock. Besides, I want to be here."

"Why?" Sherlock repeated and closed his eyes tightly, causing the tears that were on his lashes to fall. He didn't want to hear that John thought it was his duty as either a flatmate or doctor. That would only make everything he was feeling worse.

It was at times like this that John forgot that Sherlock didn't understand things like friendship. He stood up and moved to sit on the coffee table facing Sherlock. "Because you're my friend, Sherlock, and are clearly upset about something. The fact that you're actually showing it…well, I could never leave you alone, even if you wanted to be."

Sherlock quickly turned his head so he was looking at John, unsure of what he heard. "What?"

John's heart broke when he saw the tears falling from Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes; something he never thought he'd see. He handed Sherlock a few more tissues. "What is wrong, Sherlock? Will you please tell me what happened?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock didn't seem to hear John's question. He was still stuck on John saying he was his friend. "You're…you're my friend?" He then uncurled from the sofa and sat back the way he was prior with his feet up on the sofa and his arms crossed on top of his knees.

"Of course. What did you think I was?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Just a colleague."

"Where would you ever…never mind." He ran a hand over his face. "Of course I'm your friend, Sherlock."

"But you said I was pathetic."

John looked down, ashamed. "I admit that I did think that, yes. But I thought you were just having a go at me." He looked back up and met Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes. "If I had known…I… I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have said that." John leaned forward, knees almost touching Sherlock's drawn-up legs. "Will you tell me what happened? Does this have anything to do with the conversation you had with Mycroft earlier today?"

"No," Sherlock answered a little too quickly and buried his head back into his knees. How could John even know he'd had a conversation with Mycroft?

Even though John wasn't of Sherlock's caliber with deductions, he'd been around him enough to begin to know when someone was lying. Sherlock's quick answer was definitely not true. His current state did have something to do with the conversation. Based on the few conversations he'd been witness to, he could only imagine what was said.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, his tears finally beginning to slow. This whole thing was embarrassing, another emotion he wasn't used to having. Not only was he crying in front of John and acting like a child, now more than likely John knew what caused all of it. And like John said earlier, it was pathetic; a grown man crying because he thought he didn't have a friend when he really wanted one. "What did Mycroft tell you exactly?" Sherlock croaked out, face still hidden.

"He didn't tell me anything, Sherlock. Now will you please tell me what has you so upset?"

"How did you know we talked then?"

"You were fine earlier today at the bakery, so something obviously happened to you since then. I didn't know what it was and I needed to know. I texted Mycroft."

Sherlock looked up and grabbed another tissue. "Does he know then? About this?" he asked, pointing to himself.

John nodded. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I know this is the last thing you'd want your brother to know about. Like I said, I needed to know if anything happened to you so I would know how to proceed."

"He's never going to let me hear the end of it." Sherlock buried his head in his knees again.

John sat quietly for a few minutes, noticing that Sherlock's crying had now subsided to a few sniffles. "So will you tell me what happened?" he asked quietly. "Is there anything I can do?" When John received no answer, he remembered that Mycroft said the last time Sherlock had cried was when he was a boy. That explained how uncharacteristic Sherlock had been acting. It was like he reverted back to being a boy. He put a hand on Sherlock's arm. John's voice was soft when he next spoke, his tone like he used when speaking to a young child who came to see him in the surgery. "Come now, Sherlock, you can tell me." He removed his hand when Sherlock quickly glanced at it before hiding his face again.

Sherlock couldn't remember ever having been spoken to like that and he couldn't ignore the request, no matter how humiliating it made him feel. "Are you really my friend, John?" Sherlock finally asked quietly, face still buried in his knees.

John was disappointed when Sherlock finally spoke. He had hoped Sherlock would have actually told him what was bothering him, though he knew that was asking too much of the detective. "Of course. You couldn't deduce that?"

"Then why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he spat out in anger, though the effect was ruined by his sniffling.

John ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Sherlock, if you're not going to…"

Sherlock looked up and interrupted John. "Why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he repeated.

"If you really want to know, I was angry. Angry with you."

"Why?"

"We can talk about that later. That's not important right now. I want to know what's bothering you. If you're not going to tell me, just say so, though I'd rather you did tell me. I don't like seeing you like this."

Sherlock's mind was screaming at him to keep quiet, to not confess anything. He'd already expressed too much for one day, maybe even for one lifetime, but for some reason he couldn't obey his mind. "I _am_ telling you," Sherlock said quietly, raising his head slightly to look at John.

"You're already telling…but we've…you think I'm…" John sighed, trying to piece together everything they'd been discussing. Slowly everything started to make sense. "You thought we were friends, your only friend, I know, but when I corrected you earlier today, you thought that wasn't the case. Am I close?" John watched Sherlock nod. "That is what got you in this state?" Sherlock continued nodding and ducked his head when John chuckled. "Oh Sherlock, you complete and utter idiot."

Sherlock jumped up from the sofa. "I am not an idiot, John."

"For a genius, you are; at least in this case." At the still slightly distressed look in Sherlock's eyes, John stood up, closed the short distance between them, and gave Sherlock a hug. A few seconds later he pulled back, a blush slowly creeping up on his face. He'd never hugged Sherlock before, but for some reason, seeing Sherlock in the state he was in, he couldn't help it. "Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me."

Not having any type of physical contact with anyone in decades, Sherlock froze the minute John hugged him, but once released, he slowly began to relax, his eyes fixed on John. "It's…it's okay. It's fine."

John sat down on the sofa and turned to Sherlock. "Do you mind telling me what had gotten you so upset? I mean, I know why, but was there anything in particular?"

That was something Sherlock definitely didn't want to disclose now, maybe ever. "No." He walked over to his chair and sat down, bringing his knees up to his chest. "If you're my friend, why did you tell Brian you were my colleague?"

"I thought it would be obvious." John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's incredulous look. "Right, I have to remember who I'm talking to. Of course you know nothing about social practices. If you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Thanks for making me feel better, John," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Sherlock, of course I'm your friend. But it's customary in a workplace setting to use the term colleague. It's more professional. Since the errand today was related to a case, it was, of course, better to introduce me as a colleague."

"Oh." Sherlock hid his face in his knees again. He got worked up over nothing and then had a witness to a vulnerability he never knew he could possess.

"Are you okay now Sherlock?" John questioned, surprised that Sherlock was participating in this type of conversation. These last few minutes revealed more about Sherlock than all the other months they'd been flatmates combined.

Sherlock looked up at John again. "Yea. I'm fine. Uh…thanks for that. For explaining. Sor…" Sherlock was interrupted by an alert on his mobile. He pulled his phone out and saw it was a text from Mycroft. Groaning, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair.

"Let me guess," John said lightly. "Mycroft."

Sherlock glowered at John in lieu of a verbal response.

John stood up and took the now cold cup of tea from the coffee table. "You handle him while I make us some tea."

"This is your fault, you know." Sherlock got up and went to the sofa, curling up into a ball facing the back cushions. He was still slightly embarrassed at what had just transpired.

"He is concerned about you, Sherlock," John shouted toward the living room. "You have to realize that."

"Hmph." Sherlock took out his mobile and deleted the message wondering how long he could go before having to have the dreaded conversation with his brother. He closed his eyes while waiting for John to reappear with their tea and hoped that the last half hour or so wouldn't be mentioned again. When he felt a dip in the sofa cushions by his feet minutes later, he uncurled and sat properly, taking the cup of tea that was being offered.

John took a few sips of his tea then looked to Sherlock. "So how long do you think it will be before you hear anything from Brian? Did you let Lestrade know what you were doing?"

The remaining embarrassment Sherlock was still feeling was instantly banished at John's questions. Leave it to John to know what he needed. He couldn't help but smile before he began responding to John's questions. Sherlock still didn't know how he and John tolerated each other, but he knew he wouldn't trade John's friendship for anything.


End file.
